“I cannot help my suspicions,” said the Resident, quietly. “Perhaps I wrong him.”
“I think ye do, Harley,” said the old Scot. “I saw him here long after Miss Helen must have been gone. I’m thinking she and the young officers have taken a boat and gone down the river for a wee bit of game, seeing the night was fine.”
“Oh! papa,” cried Grey, “I am sure Helen would not have been so imprudent.”
“I’m sure it’s very kind of ye to think so well o’ your schoolfellow, but I’m no’ so sure. Trust me, the Rajah had no hand in the matter.”
“He has plenty of servants who would work his will,” said the Resident, thoughtfully; “but this charge of mine must not go forth to Murad’s ears. If I am wronging an innocent man, we shall have made a fresh enemy; and Heaven knows we have enough without that!”
“You may be right,” said the doctor, “but I have my doubts.”
“He’s wrong,” said old Stuart. “He’s not the man with the spirit in him to do so stirring a thing.”
“And he would never take off those two young fellows and my brother-in-law.”
“I begin to think he has,” said Perowne, snatching at the solution once more, after holding the opinion and casting it off a dozen times. “He has never forgiven her for her refusal. Are we to sit still under his insult, Harley? You have plenty of men under your command.”
“True,” said the Resident; “but should I be justified in calling them out and making a descent on Murad’s town upon the barest suspicion?”